


Through the Fire and Flames

by Mournmont



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Good Daenerys, Hurt/Comfort, Jorah Mormont Lives, Possible Smut?, season 8 fix-it, there will be death just not Jorah or Dany, this might be a slow burn for some
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-03-26 12:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19005514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mournmont/pseuds/Mournmont
Summary: Through the battles and betrayals, Jorah and Daenerys find their way home.





	1. Chapter 1

Jorah was in full battle mode. His senses were heightened as he sat upon his horse, tall and proud. With the weight of Heartsbane at his hip, and his freshly polished armor fastened tightly to him, he felt indestructible. Which he knew was the adrenaline, but he couldn’t help it. 

 

This wasn’t his first time into battle and he prayed it wouldn't be his last. After this it was on to Kings Landing. She would need him there. He felt sure of it. 

 

He feared that Cersei and her Lannister soldiers were going to be the real battle. Part of him wished that they would have just continued on to Kings Landing. Just let the North handle the dead. They seemed hesitant to follow her anyhow.

 

Instead they were at Winterfell about to lose thousands of their warriors.

 

He knew that she had made the right decision, the good decision, but he also knew that it was going to hurt her chances of taking back the throne.

 

Daenerys didn't feel at home in Westeros, and he worried that it was beginning to become a problem. It hurt her confidence, he had seen her falter many times under their scrutiny.

 

He smiled to himself, she has overcome so much, oh how they underestimate her. The mother of Dragons, the breaker of chains, a woman who despite everything still has a kind heart.

 

The North were a proud people, that didn’t love outsiders. Especially the daughter of the Mad King. He didn't want to recommend it, but he swore to the gods if she asked for his advice he would tell her, the solution was to marry Jon.

 

She couldn't use her dragons to gain their trust. It had to be a marriage. She needed to show them her undying support, and what better way than to marry the King of the North.

 

The North would still be wary of her but with the support of their king, Ned Stark's son, whom they would no doubt fight and die for, she had a much better chance. They would learn to respect and love her just as everyone else has. It was impossible not to.

 

Jorah had loved her since the beginning, but the love was constantly evolving. At first it was just the protecting of a lost, scared girl. He loved the compassion and the fire within her. She adapted so well to so many impossible situations, he was literally left in awe most of the time.

 

But it wasn’t until he saw her with her dragon children, covered in ash, and nothing else that he fell in love with this powerful woman, this Queen.

 

This woman who endured and conquered. Who from pain became strength. Who turned into the strongest most incredible person he'd ever met.

 

After that gods help him he lusted after her. He never let it show, well he tried not to, but it seemed as though everyone around them saw but Daenerys. And how could she? She was busy building her empire.

 

She asked him once what he wanted, but he didn't dare tell her the truth. 

 

You! He wanted to yell from the highest point in Qarth, but he didn't want her to think that was his only reason by her side. It wasn’t about power. He could care less about becoming a King. He was a dishonored knight, titles meant very little to him. 

 

And most importantly he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable around him. If she didn’t feel the same way it would change how she saw him. It would make her question his motives. She wouldn’t let him get as close as he’d graciously been afforded. 

 

If he were being honest with himself, he was scared. An emotion that Mormonts rarely conveyed. His people were as strong as the bears on Bear Island, and just if not more stubborn, but never scared. 

 

Bears weren't afraid when poachers came for them, they fought with all of their being to defend themselves. His father used to tell him stories passed down from long ago, of Mormonts who used to transform into bears to protect their island.

 

The fear that she sometimes put inside of him made him wonder if he was a Mormont at all.

 

So he didn’t say what he should have. What he desperately wanted to, but knew that a scared man forfeited the right. A scared man didn’t deserve her.

 

He grew to realize that he loved her so much that just being in her presence was enough. She didn’t have to reciprocate his feelings, he just wanted her to be happy. Whether that be with Daario, or some other hopefully more suited suitor.

 

Then the Greyscale changed him. He was alone, and the only thing he could think about was how he had let her down. It kept playing in his mind, torturing him. He saw her dying many painful deaths all because he wasn’t by her side, protecting her. He had visions that if he didn’t have the greyscale she would have ran into his arms. That they would have been happy and together. 

 

All of which he attributed to the disease toying with him.

 

He felt himself grow weak in the body and the mind. He wanted it to end, but felt guilty that he couldn’t even follow her last command. 

 

‘Return to me’. He couldn’t even do that.

 

So he began to write her a letter of apology. He poured his heart out and with each word he felt his composure slip. He looked at his blade more and more frequently.

 

He wanted to be free. Free from pain, free from all of his failures, and in a way free from her. 

 

And then he met Sam.

 

Sam removed his infected skin piece by excruciating piece. It was almost a form of relief. It hurt worse than anything he could have ever imagined, but instead of focusing on all the bad thoughts, he started to have hope. 

 

Hope that he would be back by her side.

 

Hope that he would keep her from harm.

 

Hope that he would help her take back the throne that she deserves. Even if it was the last thing he did. Even if he was cured just so he could live to die for her another day.

 

And with everything that happened, it became more than love. He didn’t think that there was a word for it, at least not one he was familiar with. But he vowed he would do anything for her, and expect nothing, but the honor of being by her side. 

 

That to him, was more than enough. More than this scared, scarred man deserved.

 

Melisandre krept out of the darkness pulling him out of his thoughts. He instinctively didn’t like her but felt they had nothing to lose. He allowed her request as he heard the faint shuffle of the wights as they dragged their feet across the rock hard frozen ground. As she lit the Dothraki arakhs, he gave the signal and charged into the unknown.

 

Confidence soon left him as they approached the horde. They were way outnumbered. And as he raised his blade he couldn't help but think, here I stand for my Queen.

 

Life didn’t flash before his eyes, but death did. Men were flying from their horses left and right. Even with fire, even with the brutal fighting style of the Dothraki, they were no match. The flames died out one by one until all that was left were piercingly blue cold dead eyes, and in the distance the glowing castle.

 

He yelled retreat with so much force he felt his throat burn, but it must not have been loud enough, or maybe there was no one left to hear.

 

In disbelief, he charged his horse back towards Winterfell. They were all in trouble.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say a quick thank you to everyone who read chapter one, it means a lot. I would also like to stress that I binged all of GoT this month so that I could watch the finale live. That being said, I really have very little idea what I'm talking about. I just started the first book, and I'm trying my best to get a friend to watch the show with me (so that I can shamelessly rewatch). So I can promise there will be unintentional errors, and there will be some intentional changes. I recommend just enjoying and not get too caught up in canon. Thanks!

He fought beside the people he felt he should call his own. People from the North that respected Mormonts, that respected his father, but he couldn't feel like more of an outcast.

It had been so long since his exile, so long that he could no longer put names to once familiar faces. That didn't stop him from wincing at each individual that died by his side. He loathed watching innocents die. That's what most of these people were. Most had no business fighting, only a small amount of people at the castle grounds were even soldiers.

He was confident that they could hold their ground long enough to win. The wights were thinning out and were losing momentum. But the death toll of the living was still high, and anyone could see that without the Dothraki and the Unsullied this foreseeable victory wouldn't have been possible.

Without Daenerys they wouldn't have stood a chance.

Maybe this is how her stories will begin. The Savior Queen who came from the south to save them all, when the current Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would not. The Queen who was so selfless she risked all of her armies to help the North. To help people who treated her with disdain, and disrespect.

He didn't expect a party when she arrived, nor did he expect them to be waiting on bended knee. He knew these people better than that, but he did expect more. It was obvious that Jon was loved and respected, and rightly so, but Jorah couldn't help but feel like Jon could have better encouraged them. He could have done more, or at least have told Sansa to.

Didn't they realize she was risking everything? It filled him with a blinding rage every time he thought about it. His people didn't understand, or maybe they just didn't care, and that left a bad taste in his mouth.

Just as he turned with Heartsbane ready to take on another he heard Drogon shriek. A sound so loud he felt it in his bones. He had known the dragon since its birth, and knew that he wasn't the most vocal, but something in him understood that Drogon was calling out to him.

His heart fell as he left to find them.

Where was she?

Daenerys was supposed to keep to the skies in search of Viserion and the Night King. Last time he saw her she was with Jon and Rhaegal. They were combing through the thick darkness, that was clouded with a heavy overcast. It was a frozen mess.

So why did Drogon sound so close? Had they fallen? Did they have the Night King?

It didn't take long for Jorah to spot him. He watched in horror as wights crawled and climbed all over the irritated dragon. Drogon flapped his magnificent wings trying to remove the parasites but still they clung. He had no choice he had to fly away or he would die.

Who Jorah didn't see was what worried him most.

His eyes scanned the battleground that was thankfully more illuminated than before. He saw her petite form dressed in white, her light blond hair swaying as she looked around frantically.

The nightmare of watching the newly resurrected dead make their way towards her, surrounding her, made his heart sink for the second time that night.

Running really wasn't an option, he flew to her. Jumping over obstacles and moving with the finesse and the agility of a charging wild cat. He made it to her just in time as he swung Heartsbane with all of his might, cutting the wights head clean in two.

Jorah grabbed her rougher than he intended as he turned her back to the path he had just made. Shortly after it became very clear that they weren't going anywhere. There were far too many.

He took a second to study her face, making sure that she was unharmed. It was so unguarded so full of emotion that he couldn't think. Her mask was gone and only Daenerys stood before him, staring with a look mixed of both disbelief and relief.

"Jorah!" his Queen yelled as a sharp pain sliced through his side. He turned making the wight miss and took off its head.

The wound burned strangely. A sensation he had not experienced up until this moment. It hurt, but not like any other injury he had ever suffered. He thought that maybe his armor had protected him and it was nothing but a deep bruise. He quickly glanced down to see, unlucky for him that was most certainly not the case. Blood poured out of a narrow crevasse where his breastplate split open.

His armor was made lighter than he was accustomed to. It was per his request. He remembered past conversations that he had with the Dothroki throughout the years. Why armor? All it does is make you slow. Yes, but it keeps you alive.

No one could afford to be slow out here, least of all him. So he decided that if this was going to be his last stand, then at least he'd die being able to move quickly.

As he felt the second blade make contact with him, he questioned his earlier reasoning. But as he moved swiftly to kill the offender, he realized that if he had to die then shielding her would be worth it.

She was worried. That was an understatement.

When her feet touched the ground she knew that she was in trouble. And as Drogon was attacked she felt her breath quicken as panic coursed through her veins.

For the first time in years she felt lost. An army of the undead surrounded her, in a foriegn land, all to protect foriegn people who openly disliked her. She had been around death and despair all through her life but never like this, and never so alone.

She picked up the nearest sword and over-thought how to hold it, twisting it around in her silky smooth gloves. She was shocked by the weight of it. It felt wrong in her hands. Her shoulders already began to protest.

The first wight came towards her and she felt a chill run down her spine. Then in the blink of an eye, he was there. Ser Jorah. She didn't know why it still surprised her, of course he would be there. Fighting for her, protecting her.

Her knight who she had banished twice. Whom she had denied subtly through the years, and still he treated her the same, with respect and devotion. A man who would always be there to save her, to defend her, no matter the cost. A man who defined the term loyalty.

Jorah had consumed her thoughts more and more as of late. She always cared about him deeply, but felt as though she couldn't show it, at least not the way she had recently been wanting to.

He was her closest friend, her most trusted advisor, and she felt as though it was obvious that she loved him. At first, not the way he wanted, but after he came back from being cured of greyscale, she felt differently.

And he was different. Passion didn't burn through his blue eyes like it had in the past. He smiled with more ease, but it hardly ever reached those eyes.

When they embraced on the shore for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt him tire in her arms. What he went through she couldn't pretend to understand, especially when he wouldn't talk to her about it. As she felt his deep contented sigh she knew that he would at least be able to truly rest now.

It was strange. As she tried to get closer to him, he seemed to push her closer to Jon. He would volunteer for anything, even if that was just surveying the grounds. He was pushing her away bit by bit. She could have demanded that he spoke to her, but she didn't want to be cruel to him. He didn't deserve that.

When Jon and Jorah left to catch a wight, she was furious. She didn't let anyone know that, except maybe Tyrion, but that was only because he was great at reading and understanding people.

'Heroes do stupid things and they die' she had said cooly in worry and anger.

Jorah's adrenaline dwindled and turned to fumes and his arms felt like a newly lit fire, burning fiercely, but that didn't slow him down. He used his sword to kill anything that got within reaching distance of his Queen, his heart.

If he were being honest, he didn't know how he was still standing. He felt his blood leak freely. He had little use of his arms, and knew that with one more injury he was down.

And yet, he kept rising.

And they kept coming.

She was in awe. Her brave knight, her Jorah, had taken so much damage, more than she'd ever deemed possible. She wished to the gods that Drogon would circle around and rescue them before it was too late. But she didn't even know if he was still living. She worried that she wasn't strong enough to lose another child.

She pushed Jorah out of the way as a lethal blow was headed straight for his heart. He fell and rolled over then stood in one motion, as she stabbed the wight in return.

"Good aim Khaleesi" he nodded towards her proudly, his voice not sounding like his own.

As she looked at him, a fire within her started to burn. A heat she hadn't felt since she had left Meereen. A feeling of her old self. A feeling that whatever was missing from her had returned. Even in this dire situation she felt more sure of herself than she had in months.

She placed her back against his and waited for the oncoming onslaught. She turned to the left and thought she must be seeing things. She shook her head and cleared her eyes. It was still there, a white horse.

She tapped his shoulder, and as he turned he looked to where she was pointing. He was as surprised as she was, and maybe even more doubtful.

Grasping her shoulders, he shielded her rear as they approached the animal cautiously.

The wights were on their tails and as they neared, Jorah turned back and sliced through two of the closest.

He patted the horse and whispered "Easy girl". He motioned for Daenerys to step onto his hands, she paused for only a moment as she saw the blood that his hands left behind, then he hoisted her up upon the mare.

"Jorah look out!" she screamed, causing the horse to panic and launch forward. Jorah fell back. If she wasn't holding on she would have flown off.

The fall might have saved his life, instead of cutting into his back, the wight missed and caught the top of his shoulder. He lifted his blade forward and cut straight through the wights neck.

"Jorah!" he heard her cry in anguish.

He found it almost impossible to stand this time. Using Heartsbane as a crutch he wobbled to his feet. He turned to her as she tried to steady the horse. "Go!" was all he could say.

"Jorah?" her concern morphed into fear. Her face twisted in pain. The most he had ever seen her display.

"Go Khaleesi!" he used what energy he had left and turned to face his remaining enemies.

He experienced a wave of relief as he felt sure that she was safe. He wielded his sword with a small smile on his face. He had completed his job.

It wasn't until he heard the sound of a horse galloping that his smile faded.

She rode around to his front and reached for him "Grab on" she said with such command his hair stood on the back of his neck.

He tried gods help him he did, but his arms simply wouldn't lift. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears. His vision was blurry and unfocused. His head felt like it weighed a ton.

"Jorah, don't make me come down there" she wiggled her fingers as if baiting him to grab on.

With all the strength he could muster, he grabbed a hold of her hand and dove forward onto the horses back. Once she was sure he was on as safely as he could be, she kicked the sides of the horse until she was at her full speed.

Daenerys knew they couldn't go back to the castle with as many wights as there were, especially not with a with a skittish mare. She didn't think Jorah could take another fall. In fact she was sure that he couldn't, and she most certainly did not want to test her hunch. Part of her feared that he was gone already.

She guided the horse west. She knew that they were near the Wolfswood. At least that would provide them with trees for cover. She felt him shift and audibly sighed in relief. He was alive.

He moved until he straddled the horse normally. She could sense his uneasiness "Hold on to me." she felt his strong hands cautiously grip her hips. She rolled her eyes, grabbed both of his arms and pulled him close to her back, forcing him to hug her tightly from behind.

They rode on as the horse slowed along with Jorah's breathing. His grip lessened by the second, and she felt him tilt too far to a side occasionally. They needed to stop soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Daenerys waited until they made it into a denser part of the woods before she slowed the horse to a halt. It was dark, but not too dark. It was however, far too cold. She blamed her time in Essos as her teeth began to chatter, and violent chills wracked through her body. The frost from her flight with Drogon had yet to fully thaw on her clothes, and even though it was warmer on the ground than in the sky, it was still absolutely miserable.

The sky was gracious enough to part open and let some stars shine through, enough so that she could navigate them safely through the uneven terrain. She hoped that it was a good omen. A sign of victory, a sign of a tomorrow. It was at least enough to give her positive expectations. 

This type of evil didn’t belong in the light of day. It felt wrong somehow, impossible. She felt as though when the sun came up, this frozen-dark nightmare would vanish into yesterday.

She jumped off of the horse and landed much harder than she intended. This was not the soft snow that children could play in. No, this was hardened by weeks of heavy snowfall, building layers upon layers, until far below freezing temperatures turned it into a ground of solid ice. It wasn’t as slick, but just as impenetrable. She winced as her feet stung from the careless descent. She turned back to Jorah, who was still in an upright position completely unmoving. The only comfort she found being the rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of his faint but even breaths.

“Jorah?” she patted his leg gently. Even through his armor and her glove she could feel the tension in his muscles. His whole body tight and unwilling to rest.

She looked at him worriedly. He was as motionless as she’d ever seen him. So lifeless, and still. He almost appeared as frozen as the pale blue trees that decorated the horizon.

“Ser Jorah, your Queen needs you.” She said in a voice equal in both command and volume. A gust of strong wind blew a light covering of snow onto them.

His eyes opened slowly, attempted to blink the cold wet snow away, and then found hers. They widened as recognition lit his features. He was suddenly on full alert, grabbing for his sword, and grunting loudly as he pulled at his many wounds. He gasped and weazed until he was no longer sitting straight.

Daenerys expertly read the situation and ran to his other side, catching all of his weight, as they pounded onto the unforgiving ground. 

He was a much larger man than he sometimes appeared. With broad shoulders, and a confident stance, he could have a commanding presence even around much larger Khals. He was also stronger than his stature would seem to allow. He wasn't especially muscular, but he was fine toned. And when she watched him wield his sword, there was no doubt of his immense strength. As strong as ten mainlanders. 

The fall took the air straight from her lungs and by his sharp intake, she was very thankful that she was there to soften his landing.

After they took a moment and both caught their breaths, she helped him so that he could gently roll onto his back. 

He had a small trail of blood coming from his mouth, and she could tell by the furrow of his brow that he was in a great deal of discomfort.

Having no clue what she could do for him, she moved underneath his head so that it was sitting comfortably on her lap “We have to stay hidden for a moment, but I promise you, I’ll get help as soon as I can.” She looked at him through tears, that annoyingly blurred her vision, while she lovingly stroked his cheek. 

Jorah looked so delicate, like if she closed her eyes for too long he would disappear. His face had multiple lacerations that had started to scab over, and his skin was almost void of color, bringing the ginger out of his blond hair. 

It broke something in her. He wouldn’t even be here if not for his love and devotion to her. 

He moved his lips trying his best to say something but she quieted him, not wanting to distress him any further.

“Hush. You are to rest now.” 

She took her glove off so that he could feel the warmth of her hand on his face. He couldn’t help but to lean into her palm, even though her statement seemed to agitate him.

He squirmed and tried to sit up. The sudden violent motion causing him to cough. Blood splattered on the pristine white ground beside them. 

“I’m hurt.” She heard him rasp out loud.

By this time her tears were escaping freely “I know, but it's going to be alright though. Soon we will have you in the coziest bed in all of Winterfell. I’ll have Grey Worm build you a large fire and then you can sleep.” And heal, she prayed silently to herself.

He looked at her so lost and confused, like he wanted to correct her, like he wanted to argue. 

“Your Queen demands it.” She added horsley, no longer able to keep her optimistic facade.

He shook his head, closed his eyes tightly, and whispered “I’m so sorry Khaleesi.” 

Her whole world turned on its head, her vision blurred to a point of blindness. “Jorah the Andal, don’t you dare leave me.” She started to sob “Not now, not when we are so close. I said that I needed you when I took the Seven Kingdoms, and I need you now more than ever.”

He started to shake. She wasn't sure if it was from the temperature, or if he was seizing. She had never seen one in person before, so she really couldn't be sure.

“Please Jorah, please fight.” She laid a soft lingering kiss onto his furrowed brow. Trying whatever methods she could to ease him.

What could she do? She was absolutely helpless in this situation. There was no way she could get him back on the horse, and there was no way she was going to leave him.

Maybe she should have risked going through the army of wights back into the safety of Winterfell, even though she knew that would have killed them both. Maybe that would have been worth the attempt.

Jorah was going to die in her arms, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She didn't like being powerless. 

Daenerys looked out into the distance in complete hopelessness. She wondered how far Bear Island was from here. She started sobbing even harder, hiccuping in desperation. He was so close to what he yearned for, what he fought for. He was so close to going home, and yet he was farther than ever. 

She had wondered about the mysterious Island often. They found themselves alone many times throughout their journey, and she would often ask about the lands she’d one day come to rule. His soothing voice would speak in great detail about the Northern snow, the riches of Highgarden, and of the rocky coasts of the Iron Islands. But anytime she’d show interest in his Bear Island, he’d defer her questions with a lavish description of elsewhere. 

The pain of his betrayal still stung, and perhaps it always would. After all, he was the only one she put her complete faith and trust in. And in offering him her absolute confidence, he hurt her like no other was capable. 

Forcing him to leave not only once, but twice had been two of the most difficult commands she has ever had to give. 

The dejected look on his face haunted her throughout his banishments. Not a day went by when she didn’t question her decision. Not a day went by that she didn't miss him fiercely.

And she would never condone any type of disloyalty, loyalty being most precious to her, but his innocent wish for home, was something she could sympathize with. 

Jorah finally lost consciousness. His eyes rolled back and his breathing evened out. 

Thankful that he was no longer suffering, she shifted her numb lower extremities, making herself more comfortable. 

She listened closely, terrified that his breath would stop and she wouldn't notice. It was then she heard it. A distant shuffling, growing nearer with each passing second. 

The wights must have found them. 

Panic didn't flood her this time, instead she laid Jorah's head gently on the ground, stood slowly, and grabbed Heartsbane out from its sheath. The sword was even heavier than her previous weapon. 

Her temper flared as she saw three wights coming towards them. She had never hated something so fully than the dead at this moment.

Hiding behind a nearby tree she waited until the first had its back to her, then struck with true aim, straight into its back, killing it instantly. 

The next already had its blue eyes on her. She stumbled back a few steps, almost dropping the blade, until she backed into a tree. Causing the horse to neigh anxiously, and race away into the haze of the night.

In the distance she could see the third nearing Jorah. She felt a cool sweat gather at her lower back, her heart racing as it approached. 

Forcing her eyes on the one closest to her, she let out a guttural yell as she launched forward, this time just barely missing. She landed face first onto the ground, turning over quickly, she looked for the weapon. Her fingers tickled the hilt of the sword, as the wight brought its blade down to her chest, then in the blink of an eye it shattered into a million shards.

She immediately glanced back at Jorah, and saw that other wight had met the same fate. She concluded that Jon must have killed the Night King. It was over.

Rushing to him as fast as her legs could carry her, she knelt down beside him, and saw his attempt of a smile. He was too weak to speak, but she could he tell he was lucid enough to understand what happened.

“We won.” She smiled at him brightly, laying a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

They felt the breeze, and heard his wings before they saw him. Drogon hovered above them, then slowly landed, knocking over smaller trees in his path. 

He circled around them a few times to make sure that they were safe, and then laid his body down round them, in a hug of protection. 

She heard his rumbling purrs from deep within, and before she could warn him against it, he was shooting flames up into the air. Signaling that he’d located his mother.

Riders would come soon, she was certain, and when they saw that something was preventing her from flying off with Drogon, they would know it was serious.

For the first time since she’d fallen off her dragon child, she felt like maybe everything was going to be ok.

They didn't have to wait long. Every able body was no doubt in search of the fallen Queen. 

It was Tormund who eventually found them. When he saw Jorah’s condition he sent one of his riders to retrieve a cart.

Daenerys also told the rider to inform Sam, and tell him to have a room and equipment prepared. He was Jorah’s best hope, and if he could cure greyscale then a few open wounds shouldn’t be a problem.

He came back quickly with a cart, and two more men. 

Tormund suggested that she lay in the cart first, it was not a long ride back, but it was bumpy. She could comfort him, and keep him as still as possible.

As they laid Jorah beside her in the cart, he was working his jaw tightly “Easy. Its ok we’re almost there.” She wrapped her arm around him so that his head was resting safely on her arm, as she gently cradled him.

They took off, at first he showed no change, but soon he reached his limit. He groaned in pain at every bump. They were about halfway there when he could no longer stay awake.

Winterfell was in sight, with its gates opened wide and fires burning bright, as Jorah slipped into oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam grew more confident underpressure with each passing day. 

His hands occasionally shook and his brow would still breakout in sweat, his eyes went wide and his voice would stutter, but he no longer shied away from a challenge.

Gilly and little Sam made him want to step up and become the man he’d always wanted to be. A caring dad and a loving husband, strong for his family, and with their support he had become a great healer.

Sam always possessed a good moral compass, that lead him to become an integral part of Jon’s reign of the North. 

He helped Jon through their time at the Wall, more than he’d ever truly know. 

Jon needed to learn sympathy, and that people were not always the same. He needed to understand that fear wasn’t a crime, and bravery came in all forms. That not everyone was a soldier, and some people did not want to fight at all.

Jon wouldn’t be half the leader he was today if not for Samwell Tarley’s friendship. In fact, he might not have made it back to Winterfell at all.

Sam’s time at the Citadel filled him with knowledge, and helped him solidify his calling in life. He wanted to help people, not with a sword, he wasn't created for that, but with his wisdom and eagerness to assist. 

At first he helped by cooking, serving, and cleaning. The vicious cycle repeated on a loop for days, weeks, months, until he could no longer tell how long it had been.

Then he met Jorah Mormont, a greyscale covered man in a small one-roomed cell. He experienced a rush of intrigue and wonder, but most importantly a need. A need to cure him.

Jeor Mormont was someone who he looked up to a great deal. He was someone who stood his ground and would do what's right no matter the cost. Even if that meant getting stabbed in the back by the very people he devoted his life to protect.

Sam knew that Jeor and Jorah were different people, and he knew of the dishonor Jorah brought on his family, but he also knew he owed Commander Mormont his life. And by saving his son he hoped to repay that debt.

As he treated the greyscale, he got to know his character. And Ser Jorah earned his respect quickly. 

Sam couldn’t believe that he was as quiet and still as he was, even hours into the agonising treatment. 

It became clear very fast that Mormonts, at the heart, were all the same. 

Brave, unrelenting, and strong. 

Everything Sam wished he could be. 

At the end of his borderline torture on poor Jorah, Sam wrapped up the last strip of raw irritatded flesh, and looked into his crystal clear blue eyes in what truly felt like the first time.

They were shiny with emotion, and as he reached out to firmly shake Sam’s hand, Sam knew that he had done a good thing. 

Jorah Mormont’s past was in the past, before him was a good man, a kind man, who had good left to do in the world.

The next time their paths crossed was at Winterfell. Sam had been looking to give Heartsbane to someone who could wield it better. He didn’t want it wasted on himself with his almost nonexistent fighting skills.

And then he saw him. 

Jorah looked like more of the brave knight than he ever had before, dressed fully in dark armor, his hair was shorter and neatly kept, and his features were more relaxed but still motivated.

Sam knew in that moment that he would be honored to pass his family sword unto him. 

Currently, Sam tended to the injured. There were so many that they almost piled on top of each other in the heart of the castle grounds, all awaiting treatment. 

There were but seven healers, and there were many wounded. The injuries varying greatly, although most severe cases were already seen to.

Sam was treating a bad burn on the face of a Stark bannerman, when a wildling rider came galloping through dangerously, yelling his name.

He finished wrapping the burned face, and hurried to the rider before he accidentally trampled someone to death. 

His instructions were straight from the Dragon Queen herself. As the wildling rode off with a small wooden cart, Sam made his way into the castle to prepare a room.

He lit a fire and made the bed. He double checked his sutures and boiled some water. 

Having no clue of what was to come, he paced and anxiously awaited their arrival.

Sam’s heart dropped and his pacing stilled, as Tormund and another man burst through the door carrying in a severely injured Jorah Mormont. 

The Dragon Queen was close behind with a solemn look upon her face. He observed that her hands were ungloved and stained red, along with large sections of her long white coat.

Jorah was laid not so gently on to the bed. 

She hissed loudly in disapproval. 

Turmund stared crazy-eyed at Sam, panting heavily, awaiting further instruction.

“M-maybe it would be best if you two helped out there.” Sam gestured to the battlegrounds. 

Tormund gave an aggressive nod as his tongue seemed to play with his fiery-red beard, then he and his companion exited the small room.

Sam knew better than to suggest that of her, he quite liked his head.

“Ok, first thing we need to do is remove his armor. Can you help me with that?”

She was uncharacteristically quiet, but still moved quickly beside the bed to assist. 

The task would have been much simpler if he hadn’t dismissed them, but he knew they would have just gotten in the way. 

The pair eventually managed to remove all of his armor, straight down to his soaked shirt and underpants.

As Sam held him in sitting position, Daenerys carefully maneuvered the shirt over his arms, finally leaving him bare chested.

Nothing could be heard but the crackling fire and her loud gasp. She’d never seen his scars before, and up until this moment, she had no clue how extensive the greyscale had progressed.

Sam broke the silence as he began to clean out Jorah’s wounds “You should have seen what it looked like before your grace. T-th scales were dark, and deep” he squeezed the rag clean and then soaked it again in the almost scalding-hot water “...he barely even made a sound as I pulled his top layer of flesh off. I’ve never seen a man show such resilience.” he gave her a small genuine smile, then continued his work.

“He protected me, I’d be dead…”

“You know, we didn’t speak much,” he interrupted her dark thoughts “but he did mention you. He spoke of how you wanted him to find a cure so that he could make it back to you. That's all he really wanted. That's why he sat through what he did. And that is why you are both here now.”

Sam began to close the deepest wound on Jorah’s side. He was thankful that he was unconscious because this wound was severe. 

It was so deep that Sam decided to use his fingers to gently prod, making sure that his organs hadn’t been nicked, before he finished closing.

She could no longer watch Sam’s administrations, it was making her feel ill in more ways than one. She grabbed ahold of Jorah’s hand, turned her body slightly and stared deeply into the flames. 

“How bad did it hurt him?”

Sam was focusing so hard, the question confused him for a moment, until he realized she was still in the past. He was almost hesitant to respond because it was really Jorah’s tale to tell.

“In my short time as a healer and watching people be healed, I have never seen anyone go through something as painful and survive.” he answered in all honesty.

He finished closing up his side and moved on to his shoulder, which was shallow in comparison, but in a very sensitive area close to his neck. 

Jorah groaned and his hand started to twitch in hers. 

Her eyes darted from the fire to him. 

“He is waking.”

“I know. It is ok, just try and keep him calm. I’m almost done up here and then everything else should be a lot less painful.”

She leaned over him, brought his hand to her face, and rested her chin in his palm. His eyes slowly cracked open, a lone tear rolled down his face and onto the sheets.

“Do we not have any milk of the poppy?” she questioned urgently. 

Sam looked up at her and quietly indicated that they didn’t. Their supplies dwindled long ago. The only medicines left were healing herbs, and he brought all they would need of them. 

Jorah attempted to sit up. Both Sam and Daenerys stopped him before he could pull his stitches.

“Easy Jorah, let Sam finish, he’s nearly done” she kept skin on skin contact with him, somehow knowing that was what he needed.

“Where?...” he was too weak to finish.

“We made it back to Winterfell remember?”

Sam tugged the last stitch to a close, causing Jorah to yell out.

“Shhh, be still. You mustn’t move and undo all of Maester Tarleys hard work.”

At her voice, he visibly relaxed his head back onto his pillow, and fought a losing battle to keep his eyes opened.

“Well done.” Sam grinned in appreciation.

He finished his work by cleaning, applying the healing herbs, and wrapping other less serious wounds. 

Rinsing and drying his hands, he gave the verdict she had been holding her breath in anticipation for. 

“I won’t lie to you, i-it’s bad your grace. His side is deep and if I’ve missed a bleed, he could die before the morn. His shoulder will hurt for some time, it may have a permanent effect on his movements. The others which you’ve seen, aren’t that serious, but will still need to be looked after closely.”

He paused and rocked on his heels “There are things I can’t do anything about. I have no clue how much blood he’s lost.” He wiped his still damp hands nervously on his robe “And probably his biggest battle is yet to come...infection can spread like wildfire.” 

She nodded grimly but she understood.

“I’ve done all I can for him tonight, your grace. Send someone for me if he wakes.”

He gathered his supplies and headed for the door. His night was far from over. 

“Tarley.”

“Yes your grace.”

“Thank you for looking after him. You have done well.”

He smiled, and gave a quick bow. He struggled to open the door with all of his supplies in hand. He finally managed to crack the door just enough to take his ungraceful exit. 

They were alone at last. 

She let her tears well up again, reaching her limit of composure.

She ran her fingers through his damp hair, removing stray hairs that were stuck to his forehead, slicking them back to where they belonged. 

His breathing sounded stronger than it had, or maybe it just sounded that way due to the almost eerie silence of the room. 

Her eyes drifted to his side, where thick white bandages wrapped tightly around him, keeping the healing herbs close to his injury. 

The thought of his wounds festering like Drogo’s, made her stomach drop low, almost causing her to be ill. 

It was one of her worst nightmares, she couldn’t watch that happen to someone again, she didn't think she was strong enough. And the pain hurt deeper, it was a feeling she couldn't quite understand. The possibility of that happening to Jorah struck a specific nerve. 

A light tap on the door shifted her attention. She wiped her tears, adjusted the collar of her coat, and sat up straight. 

“Come in.” Her voice perfectly disguising her emotions. 

Jon walked in with his head low in respect.

“How is he?”

“Tarley said that his wounds were great, but that he had a fighting chance.” 

She pulled the covers up over Jorah, no one knew of the greyscale but her and Sam. She didn’t want Jon to see his scars and ask questions. She already felt guilty enough.

Jon entered the room fully, keeping his hands behind his back. 

“I heard that he saved you.”

“He did.” 

She felt her throat once again tighten as she tucked the covers gently around his sides.

“I’m glad he was there.”

Daenerys knew that he was trying to be kind, but it had been a long night, she felt her blood boil at his remark. She tried her best to swallow her comment, especially in front of a resting Jorah, but she couldn't do it. 

“Glad? Look at him. His body has been sliced open, precious blood has leaked from him, and you are glad?”

Her face reddened, and her eyebrows lifted in a pleading question.

“Dany, you know that's not how I meant it. I’m just relieved that you’re alive.” He brought his hands more comfortably to his sides “When I lost sight of Drogon…”

“Please leave.”

“Dany?”

“Please Jon.”

She knew that this was ugly of her, and very un-Queen like, but she was in no mood for this. She cared deeply about Jon, and was more than pleased that he was ok, but this was not the time.

The battle may be over, but their were still many left fighting.

He backed away, shrinking in the shadow of the fire. Only when he arrived at the door did he dare look back. She wasn’t paying him any attention. Her full concentration on Ser Jorah.

Jon observed them silently, and then closed the door as he walked out into the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! I just wanted to thank everyone again, and say that this is the first time that I've felt this inspired to write. Hope you’re still enjoying :)

It was the next morning.

Daenerys had stayed by Jorah’s side unwilling to move. Missandei had begged her several times to change her clothes, and get some food. Even going so far as to bring her a new outfit, and a bowl of porridge with a side of honey, but Daenerys was less than interested.

She was afraid that if she let go of him he would fade. She knew that something in her touch soothed him, it kept him grounded to this life. She could skip a few meals if it meant he would survive.

If she were being perfectly honest she was tired of people constantly checking on her. With each visitor it felt like they were interrupting something important. She kept from scolding, she knew that they were just worried about their Queen. 

She just wished to be alone.

Tyrion opened the door without a single knock.

“My Queen?”

She jumped, and turned in agitation at yet another disturbance. Opening her mouth to berate the intruder, she was interrupted.

“They have readied the pyers your grace. It is customary for the commander of the fallen to have final words, and to send them on into the afterlife.” He spoke quickly, his regretful eyes betraying his boldness.

He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and her blood stained clothes. She looked small at the moment. He had always pictured her larger than life. Her charisma and confidence making her seem almost god-like. For the first time he saw her as just another person. Just a young woman with so much responsibility on her shoulders. 

“And if I may be so bold your grace, I recommend maybe freshening up a bit first.” 

She heard the humor behind his comment but let it fall flat.

He moved to the other side of Jorah’s bedside and looked down at him. Despite the fact that Mormont wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and borderline bored him to tears, he did like the man.

Regardless of his betrayal, he was still as devoted as he’d ever seen anyone. He would do anything for love, even if that meant dying. Tyrion respected him for that. Too often love was just a word, a thought, an idea. It was hardly ever proven through actions, just a term spoken to make claims. 

Jorah loved his Queen, and proved that time and time again through his selfless actions.

He wore his heart on his sleeve sometimes foolishly so, but nonetheless he wasn't apologetic about it, and he never denied it. 

In a way, Jorah was the polar opposite of him. And he envied him greatly in that respect.

“Let the Warden of the North handle it.”

He regarded her for a moment and then said firmly “A Queen wouldn’t let another do her job. Especially a Queen who has yet to have the full support of the North. These men are stubborn, more so than you can ever imagine.” He playfull rolled his eyes in exasperation. “If you are not there, they will never forget and they will most certainly never forgive you.”

“And what more would you have me do?” She asked through gritted teeth in restrained rage.

Her voice was so loud and piercing it frightened him.

“I have risked everything to come here. I lost Viserion, and thousands of soldiers from my armies. He would not be laying here injured. I could be sitting on the Iron Throne right as we speak, but instead I came to fight a battle that the current ruler of the Seven Kingdoms would not. So please tell me Tyrion, what more could I possibly do to earn their support?”

It was moments like these where she struck fear into him. She wasn't mad like her father, but sometimes she appeared unsympathetic, and she was very unpredictable. The latter threw him off his game. 

He had faith that she would make an excellent Queen, or he wouldn't be here now, but sometimes he sensed something dark within her, enough to occasionally cause him concern.

He sighed “I know that you’ve made many great sacrifices, but don't let them all be for nought. They are grateful, even if they don’t put it on display, all that's left is your shown condolences... and don’t forget, they have lost much as well.”

He walked over to her, placing himself as near to her as he dare. “You are so close my Queen. Please, I implore you, this is important.”

He was right and she absolutely knew it. It was simply challenging for her at the moment. She was exhausted, more so than she could ever recalled being. Mentally and physically. 

She knew that she was being temperamental, but everyone else could take the time and grieve in their own homes, in peace and quiet. She had to be the face of the victory. She had to be strong and fearless while on display for all to see. Even though she felt anything but.

A few moments after Tyrion dismissed himself she changed her clothes, rebraided her most unruly braids, and took a few bites of her oats. 

Grey Worm and Missandei came to escort her shortly after she’d finished picking at her meal. Daenerys was so thankful that she had them. They were the closest thing she’d ever had to having a real family. People who actually, truthfully cared about her.

“Give me one moment.”

They waited outside.

Daenerys grabbed Jorah’s hand, rubbed her thumb against his knuckles, bent down slowly and left a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t you go anywhere. I’ll be back soon.” She whispered in his ear.

She asked Missandei if she would stay with him. Who gladly obliged her request. 

“Come and get me If anything happens to him.” Daenerys put her gloves on “I mean it Missandei, anything.”

She bowed her head in reply. “Of course.”

Grey Worm lead her out to where everyone was patiently waiting.

Her Queen mask was fully on as she held her head high and proud. She kept enough sadness on her face to convey the proper amount of grief.

She gave a quick nod to Jon indicating that she was ready, he gave her a sorrow filled smile, and then much to her relief started giving the speech.

As he was nearing his closing statements, she studied the hundreds of pyers closely. There were young men, women, and even some children. Fathers, Mothers, sons, daughters, it was becoming too much for her. Tears welled in her eyes and started overflowing, the gravity of the battle, the loss, finally becoming a reality to her.

She looked upon the many faces that were lost in their own mourning. In a way it helped her to see the Northerners in this new light.

These people were made strong. If they hadn’t adapted they would have died from the excruciating cold. They weren't rich in gold, but in the love of their families, and hard work. They were loyal to their people because no one else understood what it was like to live up here. This wasn't the first time they've fought and died beside each other, and it wouldn't be the last.

They had built these strong bonds from generations of wars, and winters. She couldn’t expect to latch on and build a bond of her own so easily.

As they passed her a torch and the many houses lit their dead, she finally felt as though she understood them, at least better than she had before. And maybe that's what everyone was trying to tell her, but without witnessing it for herself she couldn't fully comprehend. 

As the fires died she was one of the last remaining, refusing to leave until she watched the final embers fade.

Jon stood beside her. No words were spoken, but his presence offered a strong support that she needed.

It was dusk already, and the winds were picking up. She was ready to return to Jorah, anxious to see how he was doing, but something kept her.

“Thank you for helping us.”

Jon’s hair swayed as the sparse snowfall landed in his jet-black hair.

“Really Dany, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

He grabbed her hand, caressing it gently, and lead them into the castle. They were headed towards the great hall when she stopped.

“What are we doing?”

“There’s a feast in your honor my Queen.” He smiled so wide that his eyes closed with it.

He pulled her into the room before she could protest.

Everyone stood and Tormund raised his overflowing ale-filled horn and yelled drunkenly “To tha Queeeeen!” And chugged sloppily, more going on his clothes than in his mouth. He jumped as some splattered into the fire causing it to suddenly grow.

Everyone responded in attempted unison “To the Queen.” They raised their mugs to her and drank.

She was in disbelief as she made her way to the head table. People would randomly cheer her name, followed by more chugging, and the violent clanging of glass.

Jon whispered before she could start talking, that Arya had been the one to kill the Night King.

Daenerys smiled broadly, nodding as she stood in front of the crowd, grabbed her drink, and began speaking.

“Arya Stark. We Thank you for your heroism. Without you many more would have died. I am relieved that you are on our side. To Arya Stark, the slayer of the Night King!” She lifted her goblet and drank a healthy amount.

“And to all of you. Without your bravery, and your courage, the Night King would have won. Your names may not be remembered, but your Houses will live on forever. To the North!” 

She finished the rest of the ale in her cup while the crowd continued to cheer. She even managed to get a small smile from Sansa.

As the night wore on, the party wouldn't die. She was light-headed and felt more than a little buzz. She didn’t think that she’d ever drank this much before.

Throughout the night, people came and bowed before her, showing their gratitude. The reality that they would have lost without her seemed to be on every Northerners mind.

As the music picked up, for what felt like the hundredth time, a semi-drunken Jon stood up and offered her his hand.

She took it without hesitation. They danced as he twirled her around the room. He wasn’t light on his feet, but at least he knew the movements. The crowd watched and enjoyed immensely. Some even stood and followed their lead. 

Assumptions were made, and people believed that they were watching the future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms dance.

It wasn’t until they made their way around the room that she saw Missandei's worried face. She came to an abrupt stop, causing Jon to tumble into her. She pulled suddenly out from his grasp, removing his hands that had molded firmly into her hips, and practically ran out of the great doors.

The air was stingingly cold, and the snow had picked up a great deal. Missandei’s voice sounded like she was underwater and the world wouldn’t stay still. 

Daenerys stumbled more than a few times, but Missandei was always there to catch her. The bitter taste of alcohol stopped being so enjoyable as ale flavored bile kept rising in her throat.

They swung open the door to find a sweat covered Jorah, and a very concerned Sam.


	6. Chapter 6

Missandei held Daenerys up as her legs buckled at the unsettling sight. She slowly guided her to the bed, and eased her into the bedside chair.

Missandei excused herself, returning shortly with a pitcher of water and a few slices of bread. 

“Here, you need to eat and drink something.”

She handed her a slice as she poured her some water. She had never seen her Queen so inebriated before, and worried that she would soon blame herself for his rapid decline.

Missandei had watched over him closely. It had been hours before he started tossing and turning. She sent for Sam immediately, as soon as he started sweating and mumbling incoherently. 

She wanted to send for the Queen as well, but Tyrion forbade it. He explained to her how important it was that she wasn’t interrupted. That it very much dictated her future. He said that there was nothing she could do for Jorah, but a lot of good she could do socializing and being seen. 

At the time Missandei had agreed.

It wasn’t until Sam told her that it was getting worse that she disobeyed Tyrion. She knew what Jorah meant to her Queen, and suspected that his loss would affect her more than Tyrion took into consideration. Maybe even more than losing the North would.

Daenerys’ stomach turned and made a loud sound of protest at the food offered to her, but she did manage to drink two full glasses of water. 

It didn't cure her, but it did settle her. Everything felt a bit clearer and her world was finally sitting still.

Sam kept placing then replacing the rag on Jorah’s brow, making sure it stayed cool enough to bring down his burning temperature. 

“Are his wounds festering?” Her voice was sluggish but concerned.

Sam looked at her regretfully. “I am afraid healing herbs are not strong enough for it. I’m trying to cool him down but this isn’t really working either.”

He lifted the large bandage on Jorah’s side so she could see the severity. It was tinged with pinks, and yellows. While the wound itself was an angry red, and purple. 

It looked terribly painful, she thought as her stomach turned again.

“The only thing left I could try is burning it.” He looked at her grimly.

“Do it.”

Sam was surprised at the conviction in her voice. Maybe she was currently too impaired to be making these decisions.

“Maybe we should wait it out your grace. He hasn't been fevered for long. I don't think its too dangerous yet.”

“Do it Maester Tarley.”

All Daenerys kept seeing was Khal Drogo’s infected wound. It flashed before her along with his cold lifeless eyes. And that was a small wound, cursed by a witch yes, but nonetheless it scared her. 

Sam nodded, quickly removed the stitching, and then started heating his dagger.

Grey Worm who was standing guard, overheard and entered the room to offer his assistance. 

“We will need to keep him on his side. Once I put the blade down, I don’t want him to move if we can help it.”

Grey Worm grabbed Jorah’s shoulders, and Missandei helped push and maneuver him so that he was resting on his uninjured side.

Daenerys knelt by his head, facing him, so that if he woke she was right there.

Sam walked quickly over from the fire with the steaming hot orange-glowing dagger, lined it up perfectly with the infected wound, and then forced it on to his skin firmly.

The hissing sound, and the smell of smoke as it burnt Jorah made everyone in the room wince. 

Jorah woke up yelling and tried to turn away. It was so sudden that Grey Worm lost his grip for a moment, causing the blade to move and twist his burning flesh.

He cried out desperately, trying his best to move away from the torture. 

Daenerys placed a hand on either side of his face, holding tightly until their eyes locked and he settled slightly. They continued staring until Jorah paled and the blade cooled.

Sam removed the dagger. He inspected the wound until he seemed satisfied, placed fresh healing herbs, and bandaged the wound securely. 

They carefully turned Jorah so that he was once again resting on his back. 

As he closed his eyes and his body went limp, everyone let out a sigh of relief. All except Daenerys who went still and abruptly ran out of the room.

Missandei found her outside clinging to a pillar, emptying out her stomach. She moved beside her, tenderly rubbed her back, and waited patiently. She was thankful that everyone was either drunk, or asleep. The sight of the Queen being ill would no doubt disappoint some. 

After she felt better they returned to the room. 

Grey Worm was making up a small bed that he and Sam had retrieved while they were outside. He meticulously fluffed each pillow before he turned and noticed them.

Missandei smiled warmly at his efforts. She loved how thoughtful and caring he could be.

They both grabbed onto their Queen and guided her to the bed. Missandei bent down and took off her boots while Grey Worm added to, then stoked the fire.

Daenerys wanted to stay up with him, but her body was dragging her down further and further into the bed. The fire was warm, and her last thought was how nice it would be to have Jorah snuggled up behind her.

He first noticed the brightness. It was calling to him, forcing him to open his eyes. His vision cleared as he blinked the sleep out of them. His mouth was dry and his mind was foggy.

The second thing he noticed was the horrible burning pain in his side. It was bad enough to make him wish he hadn't woken up at all. 

He turned his head, and saw her resting on another bed. Worry flooded his thoughts. Was she hurt?

He attempted to sit up but failed miserably. His limbs were weak and his side loudly discouraged the motion. 

Sam came into view, and brought him a glass of water.

“Is...is she ok?” Jorah’s voice sounded raw and gravelly.

“Yes she’s fine. She was so worried about you her body finally gave out.”

Jorah looked at him in questioning fear.

“Oh! But don’t worry she’s just sleeping.”

Jorah calmed as he drank some water slowly. By his body’s eager response to it, he’d say that he’d been out for awhile. 

Sam removed the cup he held to Jorah’s mouth, felt his head and smiled. “Your fever has broke. How do you feel?”

Jorah chuckled, pulling at his wounds enough to make him grimace. “Not great. My side burns something fierce.”

“Aye it should. I had to burn it to keep it from festering further.”

Jorah’s eyes widened. He reached down to touch it, not being able to through the thick wrap.

“How long?”

“Almost two days. You should heal much quicker now that the infection is out.”

“It feels longer.”

“The fever made you weak. I'll see if I can get you some berries or something. It should help you regain some strength.”

Jorah didn’t remember much, but he was relieved Sam was looking after him. After the events at the Citadel, there wasn't anyone who he’d trust more to heal him. 

Once he was alone, he attempted to touch his stubble, not quite believing that it had only been two days. It felt like so much longer. He lifted his arm and sudden debilitating pain shot through his shoulder. 

He gasped sharply, and took full deep-breaths until the piercing pain faded. 

His loud noises caused her to shift and turn, then she shot up in her bed, looking around confused and disoriented. 

Her hair was a mess, and her cheeks were pink. She turned to him and her eyes went wide in surprise.

She swung the covers off almost getting wrapped up in them in the process. She knelt down beside him. Her eyes were animated in tears of happiness.

He thought that if he died right now, he'd die looking at the most beautiful sight that he’d ever seen.

On impulse, he lifted his uninjured arm and brushed the tears off of her face with his thumb. If Jorah were fully himself he probably wouldn't have been so bold. But seeing her so close, so beautiful, and crying over him; he was powerless to it. 

It was rare to see just her, Daenerys, no forced anything. Just the awe inspiring person behind it all. He couldn’t help but notice that she’d been allowing him to see more of her lately.

To his dismay, she turned her head so that her face was cradled perfectly in his palm, and she pushed his hand firmly on her face with her slightly trembling hands. It felt so perfect and natural, that it made him forget to breath.

“How are you feeling?”

He almost couldn't find his voice. His mouth dried and his pulse began to race. “I’m fine Khaleesi.”

He let his hand slide out from her grasp at the sobering realization of who they were to each other. It wasn't his place and he hoped she’d forgive him. 

She frowned in dissatisfaction as Sam came through the door carrying a large bowl of food.

“I didn’t really know what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.”

“Thank you Maester Tarley.” Daenerys said taking the bowl from him.

He rocked back and forth, waiting for a conversation to begin. The room held an awkward silence as she stared at Jorah intensely. “Well, I’ll leave you two. I’m glad you're awake and feeling better Ser Jorah.” He bowed and left.

“Thank you Sam.” Jorah called out softly.

“What would you like?” 

Daenerys looked down at the bowl that was full of cheese and different berries. Her stomach growling in hunger at the sight.

“Whatever you least like.”

His self sacrificing tendencies sometimes annoyed her. He threw his life around like it meant nothing. He took dangerous missions just because it was what he had always done. And sometimes, sometimes it was just small things like not eating the food he’d prefer. 

He wasn’t looking at her. Their previous interaction was still heavy on his mind. She fed him some of the berries she knew that he really liked.

He turned his head away after allowing her to feed him a few, unable to resist at first. His body was too needy.

“Khaleesi don’t.”

“And why not?” She inquired trying her best to keep her temper caged.

“I can feed myself. You shouldn’t be seen doing this you are a Queen.”

“Then do.” She frustratedly sat the bowl on the bed, sat back, and waited. 

He slowly moved to pick up some cheese, but his shoulder would not let him go further. So he tried with his other hand, but couldn’t get far because it pulled at his side. He deeply exhaled and went still, giving up completely.

She leaned forward, grabbed the bowl, and continued to feed him. “A Queen can show that she cares about her people. She can feed the poor, the hungry, and the sick whenever she pleases. And if someone doesn't like it, then I’m not sure she would want their support.”

“Even a knight whose job is to look after her?” 

“Especially the knight who constantly risks his life for hers. Who keeps her safe and is always there.” She looked lovingly at him. Her eyes sparkling in the light of the fire. “Who is one of my only constants. Jorah I need to…”

Tyrion and Varys walked through the door.

She angrily thought what was the purpose for these doors. It seemed as though everyone had forgotten their manners, and when she was about to reprimand them, Tyrion spoke.

“My Queen, we think it best that we move forward to Kings Landing as soon as possible.”

“Preferably within the next few days.” Varys added as he studied the close proximity between the two.

“I know Cersei and the longer we wait, the more time we give her to prepare, the more impossible the battle will be. She’s already recruited the Golden Company, who knows who else she’ll acquire given more time.”

Daenerys nodded in agreement. “Very well. Inform Jon and the rest, we shall hold council after supper.” They watched her both wanting to discuss more. “And the next time someone barges through that door without knocking, they will be punished.” She paused for a moment then added. “You are dismissed.”

“Yes my Queen.” They said respectively, reluctantly, then bowed and left.

As they walked through the halls, Varys spoke quietly to Tyrion. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Tyrion was confused, but then realized that this was the first time Varys had really seen the two of them together alone.

“Mormont loves her dearly. But her heart belongs to Jon Snow.”

“Are you absolutely certain of that?”

Tyrion stopped and looked down at his feet. He thought about the question hard, and then returned Varys’ questioning gaze.

“No, no I’m not.”


	7. Chapter 7

Daenerys stormed down the hallway and into the Great room. Until she stood before her not so patiently awaiting council. “Where is he?”

Varys tilted his head in question as Tyrion took a sip of his wine and responded. “Who my Queen?”

Daenerys was about to explode she could feel it. Her fists clenched tightly and as she opened her mouth to let the dragon unleash, a voice made her turn her head.

“Jon is out, your grace.” Sansa replied. 

Their relationship had much improved since Daenerys’ arrival, but it still wasn’t where she wanted it to be. Sansa didn’t like her at first, and couldn't quite judge her character. She seemed too cold, too selfish perhaps. But she did see her self sacrifice during the battle, how much she cared for her injured knight, how much she cried over the dead, and lastly how she got on with her brother.

Jon could make a good king, but she feared that he wasn’t as good of a choice as Tyrion, Lord Varys, and Ser Davos thought. He was brave and excellent on the battlefield, he cared about people and stood for what was right. But there was so much more to being a ruler than that. And if he were to marry Daenerys, together they would complete each other as rulers.

However, there was still something in her that Sansa didn’t trust. She couldn’t put her finger on it, and maybe it was just her being paranoid, but she was the mad king's daughter. She wished that she could forget that and move on. Not every child is like their parent, she knew, but when she lost her temper, like now, she questioned her previous thoughts.

“Out where?” Daenerys felt her face reddened. She didn't care where, she just knew who he was with.

“The wall your grace.” Davos sensed the tension and tried his best to interject. He didn't fully understand what was going between the two women, but he knew if two people shouldn't be fighting it was them. Fire and Ice indeed.

“And could someone please tell me why he thought he could take my dragon?” She looked around intensely. Their faces were embarrassingly blank. “Rhaegal is my dragon. Mine. He doesn’t answer to Jon Snow and he doesn’t belong flying around in the north. I just lost one dragon, and if I lose another…”

“Hey.” She felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. It pulled her out of her thoughts with a jolt, as she swung back and hit the person who presumed they could touch her.

Jorah grabbed at his side after the slap landed on his chest. It did no damage, but it did irritate the burn. Which was very unfortunate because Sam had just reapplied cooling herbs, now the relief was gone.

“Jorah! Are you ok, I’m so sorry.” She held onto his arm that was gripping his wound, she looked for blood as she heard everyone standing from their seats, curious as to what had happened.

Jorah looked pale. He was not standing tall, but was hunched over a bit so that his side wouldn’t pull. He was dressed too light for the weather and she knew that he had to be cold. He must have recently bathed because he smelt fresh. His hair looked as though it was still damp, and was combed back neatly. He was clean-shaven. The first time she had ever seen him so. She wasn’t sure if she preferred it or not, but she did get to see his strong jaw and chin better, and she decided that that was a very good thing.

“I’m fine. Are you ok?” She looked at him and knew what he was asking. They were about to see her temper. If Jorah hadn't shown up, she might have lost their support completely. 

She turned to look at her council. They looked worried for Jorah and that made her even more thankful he had come. The distraction diffused the tension, and as everyone sat back down she whispered to him.“Yes. Jon took Rhaegal to the Wall, without my consent.” She looked up at him, and if they were alone he knew that tears would have been in them. 

You never hurt her people, but you never ever touched her dragons. He knew that they were like children to her. She was convinced that she could bear none of her own, so she was protective and defensive over them. He was shocked she let Jon ride one in the first place. Must be love he thought almost bitterly, but not quite.

Jorah looked up at the council. “Why would he not ask her first?” He asked while pushing Daenerys hand from his side, she looked at him hurt, but then he put his hand in hers for a brief moment, gripped tightly in reassurance and let go. He just wanted her to know that everything was ok, and that he wasn't rejecting her, but they did have an audience.

Sansa took on the challenge of defending her brother. “He wanted to see the damage at the Wall, before we head south. It was his home for a time, as I’m sure you know. He took the dragon because it was faster. He hoped to be back in time for tonight.”

Jorah didn’t like her tone, it was short and clipped as if it was said through hate. He also didn’t like how when she spoke of the Wall she looked directly at him. He didn't know if she knew of his father, or maybe she knew of his banishment. Her father had wanted his head, the thought made him want to rub the back of his neck, he was equally frustrated and thankful that his injuries prevented him from doing so.

Daenerys ignored Sansa and lead him over to the head of the table, and made him sit in the seat next to her. Jon’s seat. He looked at her in apprehension, she nodded and patted his arm. 

She had been openly touching him lately. It was something that he liked very much, but needed to tell her to stop it. Varys was watching them more intently than he’d ever notice anyone doing so. And it was as if he knew that Jorah knew, and that made him focus even harder.

As wrong as it felt sitting in the King of the North's seat, he was grateful for it. Missandei and Sam both tried to stop him, telling him that he wasn't near well enough. He didn't really believe them then, but now he did. He was sweating and his mouth felt real dry. The pain wasn't terrible but he couldn't recall a time where he had felt weaker. 

Daenerys reading his mind, stood and poured him a gobblet of water. He took it gratefully but then realized that he couldn't drink from it. He sat it down and she looked at him frowning. Then picked it up and brought it to his mouth.

It embarrassed him, but he needed the drink. And as he looked at the faces around him, he knew that it was a good thing for them to witness. Even if it wounded his pride.

Jon swung open the doors, covered in snow and ice. “Sorry for my tardiness, the Wall was more damaged than I thought.” He swung his cloak off and sat it over a chair by the fire. Then he walked up to the table confused as to why Jorah was in his seat. “Ser Jorah, it is good to see you up and around. Strong as bears those Mormonts.” He smiled genuinely.

“Please pull up a chair and join us.” Daenerys said not asking but demanding. 

He arched an eyebrow and obeyed.

Jorah was very proud of her. He knew that she wanted to say a thousand things to him right now. But instead she decided on the importance of the council, and hopefully she would reprimand him in private, or at least in a more professional manner. 

She looked at Tyrion and nodded for him to begin.

“We know that she’s built a perimeter around Kings Landing. There will be Lannister soldiers, the Golden Company, scorpions, and archers, yes, but what we’re quite concerned about is the possibility of wildfire. I have seen it nearly wipe out an entire fleet.”

Varys stood and walked slowly until he was beside of Jon and in front of the Queen. “But luckily we have dragons and a Queen that won’t burn.”

The symbolism of where he now stood didn’t go unnoticed by Jorah. He would have to keep a close watch on him. “What would you suggest she do?” Jorah asked, keeping his own tone in check.

“I say that when we arrive, the Queen and Snow ride ahead on dragons and force Cersei to use the wildfire, if she even possesses anymore.”

Jorah stood too quickly causing his head to spin and his side to pull. “Like bait?!” He slammed his fist onto the table hard. The pain in his hand masking the burning pain in his side. He slowly sat as Daenerys coaxed him down.

“It was merely a suggestion. I am simply stating the obvious. If we do nothing and they have wildfire, we will lose. That is a fact, I’m not trying to upset you Ser Mormont.” He moved to the other side of Jon so that he was now in front of Jorah. “If you have a better suggestion I’m sure we will go with that.”

Jorah squinted his eyes at him, weighing out the pros and cons of hitting him from across the table. He can’t believe he used to feed this spider with information. Jorah stood slowly and began his turn speaking. “All of you have fought in battles, well most of you have.” He cut his eyes to Varys. “And this is a lesson that all who have fought will understand. Which is stronger Lord Varys, one or Five?”

Varys tilted his head and thought for sure that Mormont wasn’t well enough to be here. “Five. But that's basic math, do you need me to send for Sam?”

“Wrong.” Jorah said firmly. “One is far greater than five.” He used his fingers to represent five individuals, and then used the fist of his other hand to represent one. Then he brought his hands together killing off the five small armies, wincing in the process.

Tyrion smiled at the sight, he had seen something like the representation before. But more importantly he was proud of Ser Jorah for standing up to the man he surely resents. Jorah wasn’t finished.

“And do you really think it wise to send a Queen and King as a lure? If we don’t stick together we become weak.” He sat tired and frustrated. He was more than ready for bed, but he felt that his presence was more important than ever. They were going to get her killed.

Sansa had enough of their arguing. “I agree that we need to assume that she has wildfire, but I’m not so sure that we should base our whole attack on it. I know for a fact that she wouldn't use it close to the Red Keep. Her life means more to her than every soul in Westeros…”

“Not every soul.” Jamie Lannister walked in followed by Brienne of Tarth.

Tyrion stood and quickly walked over to his brother. “Do you think this wise Jamie? We are in the middle of something very important, and I’m not so sure she would appreciate the presence of the man who killed her father.”

Daenerys stood for the first time and Jorah tried to follow but his legs wouldn’t allow it.

“Come.”

He stood in front of her and bowed his head. Brienne did the same and looked at the council in worry. When he told her that he needed to speak with the Queen she followed him across the grounds, trying to talk him out of it, but at least now she could defend him if need be.

“Speak, but do not test my patience with you.”

“My sister is with child.”

Daenerys looked slightly surprised then responded with venom. “I assume it’s yours?”

He nodded his head and bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to say something badly, but knew he risked the lives of everyone in the room if he made her angry.

“How does that change anything?”

“Cersei...is a lot of things, but she takes pride in being a mother. When her, our children were hurt...that’s what made her this monster.”

Varys seemed to disagree. “She was always terrible. Her children made her worse.”

“Maybe.” Jamie said a little too loudly, causing a few people to jump. “Look I am a part of this side now, the right side, the good side. But she is with child, my child. If there is any way to just banish her...”

Sansa stood, walked to him. “She got my father killed…”

“I know and I am sor…”

“My mother, my older brother, my younger brother. It’s all her fault. She took Arya and Bran’s childhood. She was cruel to me in more ways than one, and you want me to support her survival?” She stood so close to him that he could feel her breath. “I will kill her myself before that happens.”

“You misunderstand me.”

“Then speak clearly.” Tyrion urged him.

“If we can offer her a way out, someplace where she and her child can live, maybe she will ring the bells with no need for battle.” He returned Sansa’s intense stare, and cocked his head. “It’s at least worth the attempt.”

“Does she still have wildfire?”

“I don’t believe so. She used a large portion to force the Tyrells into extinction.”

“There could still be some left though my Queen. I have seen the stash first hand, and there was more left than with what it would take to blow up the Sept.” Tyrion disagreed with Jamie. He was afraid that he was leading them into a trap, whether he was aware of it or not.

“Thank you for the information. We will take it into consideration. You are dismissed.”

When they left, the room fell silent. Everyone shifted in their seats.

Ser Davos was the first to speak. “It might be worth a shot. I mean if it could save lives.”

Jon added. “We have to be careful of him. It’s his baby, and if he loves her still, this could be a part of his plan.”

Daenerys listened as everyone had their say. Tyrion and Varys teamed up against Davos and the Starks, well a Targaryen and a Stark. Her gaze kept landing on Jorah. He too was listening and planning, she could see it in his features. Sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his hand was shaking as he played with the outline of the bandage. They needed to make a plan soon before he made himself worse.

She stood abruptly, causing everyone to cease their conversations and turn towards her. “We have a long journey ahead, we will leave in three days, have everyone ready.” They nodded intently. “I believe it would be wise if Jon and I could destroy any wildfire, but we need a better plan of execution.”

Tyrion raised his brows in question. “My Queen, we have no further recommendations. Lord Varys and I have thought very hard on the subject, and the best way, we believe is to force her to show her tricks before our army arrives.” He chugged the last of his wine, neatly wiped his mouth and continued. “But I also agree with Mormont, the more we separate, the weaker we become.”

Jon stood, placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward. “What if Tyrion and I go ahead?” He saw the protests begin so he held up his hand. “Just a day or two. He could offer her freedom in exchange for the throne. If the plan doesn’t work or she refuses, then I’ll show up on Rhaegal. She hates me so much she’ll reveal all of her tricks to kill me.”

Tyrion looked at the Queen in shock. He was proud of Jon Snow for showing a cunning side, but to involve him in such a way was alarming. Cersei hated him as much, if not more than anyone. But they were family, he hoped that still counted for something. 

Daenerys looked around to see if anyone had anything to add, they didn’t, and she was ready for this to end. “We have well over a fortnight to discuss tactics in detail. I think it's best that we think very hard about these next steps. Failure is not an option, and by the time we make it to King's Landing I want a plan.”

She stood as each member bowed, and made their exit. Jon was the last. “Jon?”

“Yes my Queen.” He turned back and walked to her.

“If you ever presume to take my dragon again without my permission, I’ll send you back to the Wall to live out the rest of your days.”

His eyes grew big as part of him broke in her warning. He wanted to apologize but knew from Jorah's warning eyes that he needed to leave. He bowed in understanding and left.

She took a deep breath and turned to Jorah. “How are you?”

“I’m fine Khaleesi.”

“That's not the first time you've told me that lie.”

He grimaced at the truth of the statement. “I feel very weak. My side burns, and all of this talk about you possibly sacrificing yourself has me feeling quite ill.”

She smiled softly at him and cupped his cheek. “All will be well.”

As he felt the warmth of her hand he froze. Afraid that if he moved he would wake up. 

“Come. We need to get you to bed.” She held her hands out as he gently gripped them. She pulled lightly until he was standing. It took a moment for him to gain back his equilibrium. Then she wrapped her arm carefully around his back and allowed him to lean onto her. 

As they started moving forward she could feel him tense. “Khaleesi…”

“Don’t. If you protest Ser I will make you walk alone.”

He knew that he wouldn't make it alone so he shut his mouth, and reluctantly accepted her help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! My other story kinda took off, and I couldn't get in the mindset of this one. But I'm still writing don't worry. :)
> 
> *also I want to bring up the problem of Bran...I like Bran when he is/was Bran but the whole three-eyed-raven thing got on my last nerve. I don't like it so therefore, I am ignoring it. He might still show up, and he will be the raven-thingy but he won't have a major role on the council.*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support, enjoy ;)

They eventually made their way into the small bedroom. 

Daenerys walked him to the bed, then shut the door and placed a chair beneath its handle, no one was going to bother her on this night.

Jorah was puzzled and slightly worried as his eyebrows furrowed then raised in question.

She was amused by his confusion. “I want to change your bandages, and I don’t wish for the company of anyone else.”

“I can manage, Khaleesi.” After his comment he could have sworn that he felt an irritated heat radiate from her. 

He had been wary of accepting her help prior, but knew that in a way, it was helping her more than him. She needed to see his improvements, she had been through this before and lost someone she cared about. So he didn’t want to deny her of that, especially if it helped her worry less, but she had not yet seen his scars. 

And he didn’t want to admit it, but he felt ashamed of his body. He was older and scarred terribly. A part of him was concerned that it would disgust her, and he didn’t think he could survive that.

Or even worse than being repulsed by his scars, he didn't want to feed her guilt. 

Before he left her, after contracting greyscale, he saw her self-accusation. He knew her that well. She was worried about him, and hoped that he could find a cure. Even though they both truly believed that he wasn't coming back. He saw her face torn with many conflicting emotions.

She believed that if she hadn't banished him he wouldn’t have the disease. 

She was wrong.

There was no one to blame but himself.

If he hadn’t have been so selfish trying to go back to his island, or so desperate that he abducted Tyrion, he never would have suffered from it. It was his penance. The cost of his ignorance. 

He was so foolish and it almost got her killed, many times, he reminded himself. She was right to banish him twice, and he was being reckless coming back to her. 

The only thing left of his home was the land itself. He was now the last Mormont, all of his family were dead. And even if he were to return, the events of his past still occurred. No matter what he did, no matter who he saved, he was still the Mormont who sold poachers. He was still the man Lord Eddard Stark vowed to behead. His name was now his curse. He knew that Lady Sansa hated him, and he wondered how many more did. 

Bear Island may have been where he grew up, but it was his home no longer.

He watched Daenerys as she prepared the bandages and herbs. She was completely focused on the task, when he had the sudden realization. She was his home. 

That feeling he longed for, the feeling that he thought he needed Bear Island for, he was already experiencing when he was with her. 

He smiled. 

Houses could burn turning to nothing but ash, trees could grow atop its remnants until it become no more than a memory. You could rebuild, or move and home would change. It wasn’t that way with her. No matter what happened to him, no matter where he was or who he was with, he would always feel that she was his home. And he would do anything to get back to her.

He walked to her. “You don’t have to do this.”

She arched her eyebrows as she looked at him. “I want to. Sit.”

“I am scarred Khaleesi. Badly I am afraid.” He couldn’t face her as he continued. “I can send for Sam and…”

“Hush.” She gently grabbed his chin, and brought his face to look at her. 

Her touch was soft, and her body was close. Too close for his sanity he thought as he could smell the sweet floral scent of her hair.

“Look at me Ser, and listen closely. It pains me to see where you've suffered. Everytime I see one of your scars I think of the agony that you must have gone through…” She stopped herself from visibly shuddering. “But I believe that your scars are beautiful.”

He shook his head and started to argue, she placed a finger over his mouth to silence him. “Let me finish.” 

She removed his cloak, and viewed his scarred back for the first time. She had already seen his chest and arm while she was assisting Sam, but didn’t know it wrapped around so far. Tears gathered in her eyes, and before she could talk herself out of it, she laid a hand onto his marred flesh. She felt the heat of his body, and the bumpy terrain of his skin. Then she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss onto the deepest one.

He sucked in a deep breath. His back wasn’t as tender as it had been. In fact in most places he had lost feeling altogether, but in areas where the greyscale grew deeper he still felt a sensitivity.

“Scars are proof of what you've overcome. They are constant reminders for how strong you are. They are your badges Ser Jorah.” She remembered how he backed away from her, and told her of the disease. She had just gotten him back, her chest grew tight at the memory. “And each one you've earned because...of...me.” Her voice cracked and became weaker with each word.

He turned quickly pulling his side and shoulder, but ignoring the pain. “No.” He pointed to a small white crescent-shaped scar on his stomach. “When I was a child I fell from a waterfall, and landed hard onto a rock. My father had to jump into the ice cold water to rescue me.” He grinned at the memory of his father. It was one of the only times he saw fear on the mans face, and was the first time he heard him curse.

He then moved on to a larger jagged scar on his wrist. “My first real battle. I about lost my hand because I didn't properly fasten my gauntlet.” 

He moved to point to another, but she stopped him by grabbing ahold of said hand. She ran her fingers over the faded purple scar. “I’m sorry I banished you.”

“Don’t be. I betrayed you, you should have had my head for it.” She nodded, this time she couldn’t look at him, so he repeated her previous actions and moved her chin upwords. It hurt his injuries, but he'd tear them open if it meant comforting her. “Even if you had never seen me again, you did the right thing Khaleesi. Never question that.”

She violently shook her head and backed away, causing him to lose his support and sway slightly.

He had forgotten his weakened state until his legs began to shake. She noticed and guided him to the bed. “Lay down and let me take care of you.”

He complied without hesitation. Realizing that her wrongfully-placed guilt was indeed plaguing her, and that helping him heal would help her heal in return.

She started on his shoulder first. She removed the bandage and was pleased that it had already began closing. She cleaned it with a damp cloth, applied fresh herbs, and then placed a new bandage on delicately.

He was absolutely mesmerized by her. The way her eyes grew intense as she bit her lip while she focused on her task. The way her fingers moved and worked. The bright smile on her face and the hitch in her breath as she saw that he was healing. 

When she moved down and started to remove the wrap on his side, he noticed her hands begin to shake, and her eyes became less focused.

“I am healing.” She didn’t acknowledge him. “Daenerys, I will be fine.” 

That did it.

At the use of her name she looked at him, eyes filled with tears. “When Drogon landed, I knew I was dead. There were too many, and when he flew away…” She used her sleeve to wipe her flowing tears. “And then, in the blink of an eye, when I thought all hope was lost, you were there.” She smiled at him through the downpour.

His face was full of concern, but he couldn’t find his voice in time to comfort her. The turn in conversation caught him off guard.

“My brave knight, you took so many blows for me. When you told me to go, my world shattered.” She looked away from him so that she could regain some composure. She wasn't used to being so open, so bare. “I was frozen for a brief moment, until I noticed your bloody handprint on the horse, then I looked up and saw the wights coming for you…”

“I am here.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and rubbed small circles. “I am your knight Khaleesi, it is my job to protect you, and I would take a thousand more blows if it kept you safe.”

She didn't respond. Then she continued working, removing the bandage in order to distract herself from his confession. It was true, he was her knight, and it was his job to protect her. It didn’t mean that she had to like it. She needed him safe.

The wound wasn’t as red and swollen as before. It was blistered from the burn and looked painful, but it already seemed much better than the horror of what it was.

“See its fine.”

She placed the herbs on it carefully. She winced at his pain-filled grimace and quick shallow breathing. She then wrapped him tightly, and when she was done placed her hand on top of it, thankful it was over, but glad he trusted her enough to allow her to see him so exposed.

“You are my Queen, but next time I command you to leave you should do so.” He said trying to regulate his breathing.

“D-do you want me to leave?” In misunderstanding, she removed her hand as though he had just burned her.

“On the battlefield or if we are ever in danger, if I tell you to go, you must listen. It is the only time I will ever hold any power over you.” He slowly propped himself into a sitting position and looked at her seriously. “Your safety is everything. And it is my job to make sure you are safe. It was foolish of you to come back for me.”

She sat up straight and her features turned sharp as she spoke through clenched teeth. “Foolish? Ser Jorah it is not your job to treat me as a child. My actions were not foolish, they saved your life.” She stood up and took a step back. “When you commit selfless acts you get praised for it, but when I do so, I get treated like a child.”

“You were not meant to be on that battleground, and you know it. That was not the plan and you almost got yourself killed. I am expendable, you...you are not.” A tear slid out from the corner of his eye.

Her eyes widened as her features smoothed and her shoulders relaxed. She understood now. “You think that you are replaceable to me?”

He said nothing and closed his eyes.

“Look at me.”

He didn't.

“Please.” Her voice was so soft, and so loving that he couldn't help but obey her command. “Jorah, I love you.”

His lips parted but he was once again speechless.

“I would go back for you every hour of every day if I had to.” She sat back down and placed her hand in his. “I will not apologize for it, nor will I promise not to do so again.”

“Daenerys…” He shook his head sluggishly, feeling the events of the day catch up to him.

“Don’t you dare, not right now.” She smiled at him knowing exactly what he was thinking and said defiantly “I’m not taking it back.”

Even through the surge of adrenaline her confession brought, his eyes kept trying to close. It had been a long day, a tiring day. He had never experienced complete physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion all at once. He was surprised that he had made it this long.

The last thing he felt was a light kiss on his knuckles, and her whispered words “Rest.”

So he did.


	9. Chapter 9

Jorah woke to a woman crying out. He turned his head and saw Daenerys silhouette illuminated by the light of the fire. She was lying on the other bed. He tried to convince her that she no longer needed to sleep in the same room, that he wasn't going anywhere, but she refused silencing him with a look.

She was restless, tossing and turning, tangled in the sheets. She kept trying to say something but he couldn't quite make it out. 

All he did know was that whatever was happening, it wasn't good. 

He was faced with a handful of options. He could go to her, wake her gently and then risk being confronted with her previous declaration. Something he wasn't entirely sure he could face at the moment. 

Her love was all he had wanted for so long, but now it broke his heart. She had her future ahead of her, her legacy. She didn’t need an old dishonored knight tarnishing it. She needed a young faithful man, someone whom her people would love. Someone who wasn’t so scarred.

She groaned again causing him to continue thinking of ways to stop the nightmare. He could toss something, or make a loud noise that would hopefully wake her so he could pretend he was still sleeping. 

Or he could ignore her, which he knew he wasn't capable of.

He was weighing out his options as the fire crackled. Her moans grew louder until finally he heard a low breathless whine, ‘Jorah’. 

That did it.

He sat slowly mindful of his side and stood carefully. He wobbled slightly and held onto the bedpost. Then he walked to her steadily. 

He looked down at her. She was covered in sweat and her face was twisted tightly. He felt nervous not knowing how to go about waking a Queen, especially one that loved him. Sitting on the bed slowly, he touched her shoulder, and gently shook. 

“Daenerys” he whispered.

There was no change and he frowned. He really didn’t want to startle her. 

She made a choked sob-like sound, so he stroked her bare arm and said her name louder. 

She sat up suddenly, her eyes wide, and breath heavy. When she looked at him in desperate relief, she shot her arms around his neck and held him tightly. 

“You’re alive.” She whispered into the crook of his neck.

The pain that was coursing through his shoulder was uncomfortable, but her light breath tickling his neck still caused him to shudder for a whole different reason. 

“Are you ok Khaleesi?” His pained voice gave him away.

She jerked from him suddenly. “I didn’t hurt you did I?” 

“No, I am fine.” He had never seen her look at him so unsure of herself. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was the wights, they were all over Drogon, tearing him apart. He screamed so loudly...and then, then they got a hold of you.” She played with the seam of the quilt that covered her, not able to look at him. “You fought trying to save me from the Night King. He had me and I kept calling for you, but you couldn't make it to me. Then you fell…”

“I am here D…”

She held up her hand stopping him, she wanted him to hear the complete dream. “He let me go, and I ran straight to you. Blood poured out from your mouth and you said my name through this terrible gurgled choke. It was the worst thing I’ve ever heard Jorah.” She shuddered and he moved to her side and put his arm around her. “Then you exhaled, and I waited for an inhale that never came. I sobbed and cried out over your body. I felt my heart ripped from my chest and when I thought it was over, your eyes turned blue and you sat up...”

“It was merely a dream, I am here, I am well.” He continued to rub her arm and felt a warm liquid trickle from his shoulder onto his chest, barely missing her dress.

He stood suddenly and turned his back to her. He wrapped his cloak around himself, covering his opened wound from her concerned gaze.

“You’re bleeding.” He could never hide anything from her. She stood and fought him in removing the cloak, winning easily. “You must stop letting me hurt you Ser.” She smiled weakly.

It was only a stitch or two that pulled loose. The bleeding wasn’t heavy but he still hated the way she looked at it. Like she wielded the blade that had sliced him open. “You could never hurt me.”

“I’ll go get Maester Tarly.” She frowned at his comment, hadn't she already?

She stood, and he grabbed her hand. “You didn’t do this.”

She nodded so slightly that if he wasn't paying close attention, he would have missed entirely. 

When she left he let himself slide down in the chair. What in the seven hells was he going to do?

Daenerys found the room Sam was staying in and knocked lightly. Gilly opened the door. She wore a sleep-filled expression until she saw her. Then her eyes went wide and she stuttered “C-come in y-your grace.” She bowed her head and opened the door wide.

The room was larger than Jorah’s, but had no windows and only one bed.

Sam was by the fire holding little Sam.

“He was having trouble sleepin’. He didn’t wake you did he?”

Daenerys looked at the small child with warmth in her eyes. “No, not at all. Jorah is bleeding, and I need Maester Tarly to check his wound.”

Sam stood quickly “Is he ok?”

“Yes, he just pulled a stitch or two.” She said calmly not wanting to rouse the child.

He looked so relieved, and then he looked down at his child. “Gilly…” Before he could finish she was by his side taking little Sam from his arms.

Sam exited quickly not waiting on Daenerys. She didn’t mind and decided that she didn't need to be there. 

Her confession to Jorah had come out suddenly. She didn’t regret it, not for one second, but she wishes she could have said it at a better moment. A moment when he was well, and happy. A moment when he would believe her words and think of himself as worthy. She wasn’t so sure that he ever would.

Little Sam started to cry and it made her think of her dream. It had felt so real, too real. She could smell the flames, and feel the cold wind on her skin. She could hear Drogon’s screams and she could see Jorah's glowing-blue eyes. 

It was too much, and she about lost herself in the fear of it, when little Sam reached out for her.

Gilly turned from her and gently bounced him, trying her best to distract him “That’s the Queen Sam.”

“Ma-” he grunted out and tried to reach for her again.

Daenerys reached her arms out “I would be honored if I could hold little Sam.”

Gilly cautiously handed him to her. She knew that the Queen wouldn't hurt him, but she was still protective of him. 

Little Sam loved being in Daenerys arms. He smiled and babbled nonsense words to her. She listened intently nodding and giving ‘uh huhs’ and words of encouragement. He patted her hair and called it ‘preddy’. And then he touched her cheek and kissed it quickly. He pulled back shy, and then started giggling.

Gilly noticed her tearing up at little Sam’s last gesture. “I think he likes ya.”

“He is a very sweet child.” Daenerys handed him back to his mother. He whined, but as Gilly rubbed his back he calmed and went still, sleep finally overcoming him.

“You are very good with him. Have you ever thought of having children?”

Daenerys looked away suddenly as pain coursed through her chest.

“I-I’m sorry your grace. I know you have to marry first and that you have a lot goin’ on. You were just a natural with him and I bet you'd make a great mother, forgive me.”

“I had a son.”

Gilly’s eyes went wide and she then understood.

“His name was Rhaego and he was going to mount the world.” She smiled at the memory of her son. She never looked upon his face but she remembered the feeling of him in her womb. He was so strong. She had pictured his face many times, round like hers with sharp features like his father. Dark hair and light eyes. He was beautiful.

“I can’t imagine what that would be like.” She kissed little Sam’s head while tears formed in her own eyes. “I’m sure that when you and Jon are married you will have the most wonderful children. They won't take the place of Rhaego, but you’ll love them so much.”

“I can bear no children.”

“Why not?” Gilly asked shocked and confused.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.” She looked at the flames of the fire. “That’s what the witch who cursed me said.”

Gilly frowned for a moment taking in this new information of infertility and witches and said “You know, little Sam isn't even Sam’s true born child.”

Daenerys looked up at her.

“He loved me so much that he didn’t care that he wasn’t his father. He loves him every much as he would his own.” Gilly struggled to find the words. “What I’m sayin’ is, sometimes, the baby doesn’t have to come from you for you to love it, and for it to be yours. I don’t know much about witches or curses, but I do know that the love of a child isn’t something someone else can take away from you.”

“But it wouldn’t hold my name.”

“Aye, but you are a Queen, shouldn’t you be able to change that?”

Daenerys thanked Gilly and left with lots on her mind. She was done speaking of losses and babies. She felt so heavy from it all. 

The sun was rising and she decided to get something to eat before she went back to Jorah.

The kitchen was full of people preparing breakfast. She asked for a bowl of berries, not wanting anything too heavy on her stomach. They gave her an overflowing bowl, and she walked the grounds while she ate.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't hear him run up to her.

“Dany!”

She jumped spilling the last of her food.

“I’m sorry.” He laughed and picked her bowl up off of the ground.

“Jon you can’t sneak up on me like that.” She couldn’t help but laugh in return. After the heavy topics of the past few hours she was glad of the distraction.

They walked in silence for awhile before he got up the nerve to speak. “I shouldn’t have taken Rhaegal without asking you first, I know that. I was just trying to help the people of the Night's Watch, and make it back in time for the council.”

“And you thought I’d just let you take my dragon whenever you pleased.” The humor was quickly fading and she felt her face grow hot.

He showed his trademark Jon Snow pout and thought carefully on how to answer her. “Yes...no, in fact I knew you wouldn’t like it. I received a letter asking for my assistance. They needed help lifting some of the fallen structures, and requested that I send some men. I figured that you needed every man you had, and couldn’t afford to send a group to the Wall. It would take too long, and you were wanting to move south. So I thought it would help everyone if I flew there, and let Rhaegal do all of the heavy lifting. I was supposed to be back before you knew of it. I am sorry, I won't do it again.”

“Did you finish your job?”

“Yes. They can rebuild safely now.”

They continued to walk, both wanting to say something but neither knowing how to. 

Jon spoke first “So Tyrion recommended that we should be promised to one another before entering King’s Landing.”

“And do you want that?” She turned her head to the side so that she could observe him.

“I don't know what I want Dany, only what I don't want.” He stopped and looked up at the sky, then back down to her. “I don't want to be a King. Not even of the North, it’s not who I am. It’s not what I want.”

“Even though you said you love me?”

“Aye, I do love you. I would never lie to you about that. But, but it's different.”

She looked at him in question, and was almost hurt by his confession. “Not like Ygritte?”

His face was pained as he looked down at his feet. “I don't think I could ever love another like she. She was my first Dany, the first woman to ever reach my heart. I still think about her often. I’m afraid I haven’t been fair to you.”

“You can’t help what your heart feels Jon. I just wish you wouldn’t have let it get this far. I wish you didn’t make me fall for you.” She offered him a sad smile.

“What about you? You let me fall in love with you when your heart belonged to another.”

She looked shocked and felt her armor drop as he exposed her completely. She didn’t want to talk to him about Jorah, it was none of his business. She didn’t even know how she felt for him at the time, and she didn’t feel like defending her feelings. Especially when she didn’t even know Jorah’s, not anymore.

“I think you belong at the Wall.” She changed the subject and by the look on his face he was relieved.

“I do as well.”

“You have a loyalty to the people of the Night’s Watch and the Free Folk, they would gladly follow your lead. And I would rest easier at night if I knew that I could trust their commander and friend.” Tears gathered in her eyes. She loved Jon, but they both knew that things changed when they found out about his heritage. That didn’t stop their hearts from breaking.

“You’ll make a great Queen, and I’ll always be there when you need me.”

“I know you will. And if you ever send warning, we will be ready to help you.” She wanted to say more but ended on, “You will always be family Jon.”

They hugged each other tightly, and then backed away in a mirrored smile. Glad and relieved that this conversation happened, but was through. Both of their hearts were heavy, but happy at the same time.

When she became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Jon Snow would become the commander of the Night’s Watch. Something they both agreed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this won’t become a baby fic. I just wanted it to be addressed. Everyone makes such a huge deal of her having an heir and I felt bad for Daenerys. Hopefully Gilly gave her some hope :)


	10. Chapter 10

The day moved slowly for Jorah. After Sam fixed his stitches and helped him dress, he was left with nothing but his thoughts. 

Did she really love him?

He knew that she thought that she’d lost him. And that brought forth many raw emotions, like loss always does, but he just couldn’t accept love, not yet. Not when the battle was as fresh as his injuries, not when dreams of the night plagued her, and most certainly not when she loved another.

He couldn’t face her rejection, not again. He was tired, and ready for all the fighting to end. He was ready to see her safe, happy, and on the throne, in that order. 

Jorah wore his heart on his sleeve, he always had. Love has always been his weakness, his downfall. He had committed crimes for love. He was used so viciously through ‘love’ that he lost the respect of his people. And he was a grown man with his own freewill, but the utter commitment that he gave to a woman was overwhelming. He gave all that he had. His whole heart and nothing less.

He loved Daenerys with his whole heart, but with age came wisdom. He was less susceptible now. The choice was hers as it always had been. Though now he felt he would advise her against it, because that was his job wasn't it? And what good was he to her if he couldn’t see through his own feelings, and give her the right unselfish advice.

He was hungry and hadn’t stretched his legs in hours, so he decided to go to the kitchen and get some food. An Unsullied was guarding the door and Jorah told him where he was going, and that he wouldn’t be gone for long. He nodded and allowed it, but still followed behind him. Agitated that he was still following him, Jorah turned around and told him that he should be guarding Daenerys and not him, but he said that he was following the Queens orders.

He was almost to the kitchen when he passed Jon Snow. He looked unlike himself. His head was low and he walked with purpose. His black cloak swayed behind him. 

Jorah squinted to see where Jon had come from, and saw Daenerys’ form in the distance. Which made him worry about what she may have said to him. He hoped she hadn’t already ruined things.

He followed the path that Jon made. 

She was sitting looking out at the horizon. The sky was a greyish purple as large pillowy clouds covered the sun. Winter wasn’t near done with them yet.

“Everything alright Khaleesi?” Jorah moved to stand beside her, his rightful place, his home.

She smiled sadly. “Everything will be.”

“Tell me you didn’t break his heart?”

She gave a breathless chuckle “I’m not sure who broke whose heart.”

“Daenerys this isn't a laughing matter.” He looked at her seriously “He was going to be a perfect King for you. He is Ned Stark's son, he is the rightful heir of the north. I’m sure it isn’t too late to amend things, we have a long journey ahead.”

She looked over to him and was surprised by his look of urgency, then she noticed his armor. It was the first time he worn it since his injuries. She could see the deep lacerations and dents, she turned away before he noticed her stare. She fought desperately not to go back to that night. She closed her eyes and gently shook her head.

“Except he isn’t Ned Stark's son is he? He’s my brothers son. That would make Sansa the rightful heir of the north, not Jon. Does that mean I should marry her?” She motioned for the Unsullied guard to leave them. “I’m done marrying for politics. I don’t care if my people or my council don’t approve of my choice. It's not theirs to make. Jorah…”

He took a quick deep breath. “Please don’t” he choked out, exhaling a cloud of cold condensation. He was breaking, he felt it as tears gathered in his eyes. She could shatter him so easily, rendering all of his armor completely worthless.

“You don’t trust me to make my own decisions?”

He didn’t speak.

“Tell me that you do not love me Ser Jorah, tell me and I’ll never burden you again with this.” 

She stood and slowly walked in front of him. Her hands went straight to the most butchered parts of his breastplate. She ran her fingers over the cracks and thought that they needed to find him better armor. This thick leather material did nothing and she resented it. His blood should not have been so easy to spill. 

His heart felt like it was going to stop. He couldn’t lie to her and he couldn't tell her the truth. He tried his best to show her nothing, but a stubborn tear fell, telling on him.

She grabbed both of his hands as one does in a marriage ceremony. “Tell me Ser, tell me you don’t.”

She brought one hand back to his chest and felt his heart pounding hard, and very much alive. “You once told me that you’d always love me. Was that a lie?” She looked up into his eyes that were now full of moisture, and moved her hand to rest on his face, and then moved to the back of his neck. “Tell me to stop and I will.” She slowly pulled his face down to hers and their lips met for the first time. 

He was completely still, and his eyes were shocked as his brow furrowed. She could feel his inner battle and she almost felt bad for toying with him, but she needed to know. And if he wasn’t going to tell her verbally, she’d have to find out the only other way she knew how.

He had a stronger will than she originally assumed. So she parted his lips with her tongue, and stroked the knape of his neck with her hands. 

He closed his eyes, giving in to the loss of the battle. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her firmly into him. He began moving his mouth and kissing her with passion that took her breath away. She felt the love that he was trying to hide, still not able to fully give in completely. But then in relief, she felt the love that he was trying to show her, and she responded in return.

As he pulled away slowly he looked at her in a daze “I’d never lie to you, never.”

“I know.” She placed both hands on the side of his face and brought him down for another peck, that lasted longer than she intended.

He had built a wall, she sees that now through his tears and ignited passion. His defense mechanism built it brick by brick until he had sheltered his heart from her. It was his own mind and heart desperately trying to protect itself. It was her fault she knew, but she was a different woman then. And if it took the rest of her life she vowed to tear down that wall.

She knew that it wouldn’t be easy. Even though he had given in to her touch, that didn’t mean he had accepted anything. She knew him, and realized that this might very well be her hardest, most frustrating battle. But she loved him and was now certain that he loved her. She wouldn’t back down now, or ever.

“Are you sure? There are so many much better suited for you. You are perfect Daenerys, and I am so far from it.”

She couldn’t help it, she stood on her toes and kissed him again. There was something about kissing him that beckoned to her. She loved the feel of his lips on hers, she felt comforted and safe, but also felt a spark. One that she was told about, but had never experienced for herself until this very moment.

And she also enjoyed soothing his doubt. When their lips touched she felt his body relax and knew that his mind followed. She enjoyed the feeling of calming him and showing him her love. She affected him as she has affected no other. 

This time he smiled at her, unable to hide his joy from her any longer. And as she kissed him again, he reminded himself of how weak he was. He was supposed to be denying her and reminding her of reasons she should find another, and yet he found he couldn’t. Especially not when her soft lips kept tempting him. The draw he felt to her made him consider that maybe Targaryens possessed other abilities he knew nothing of.

She heard his stomach growl and grinned while their lips were still pressed tightly. “I am glad your appetite has returned.”

He felt his mouth go dry at her seemingly innocent words. She pulled back and laced her arm in his as she lead him to the kitchen.

Kissing in semi privacy was one thing, but being so close and touching in public unnerved him. Nobody was paying much attention, and probably assumed she was just helping her injured knight around, but he still worried over it.

The Unsullied that guarded his room began to follow them again. 

“Khaleesi, there’s no need for him following me.”

She looked straight ahead, feeling proud and happy for the first time in what felt like ages. “Can you already wield your blade so soon after being injured?” 

“N-no, not yet.” He frowned, knowing that his body couldn't. 

“So it’s agreed. You will have a guard until you can protect yourself.” She allowed herself a smirk, that was thankfully hidden from him, but he could probably hear it in her voice.

“Daenerys, we are in Winterfell I doubt that…”

She stopped walking and looked at him. All humor was gone and she was getting annoyed. Why was his life so meaningless to him? “Jorah I about lost you. To the banishments, to the Greyscale, to the wights. But here you stand, alive, breathing, and right in front of me. If I didn’t protect you when you can't protect yourself, and something were to happen to you, how would I live with myself?”

He nodded, understanding her precaution. He took back her arm and they continued walking.

“Jon Snow looked heartbroken.”

“We both are.”

She felt him tense. “Not like you think. In fact it is hard to explain. Something changed between us.”

“It is a shame, he is a good man.”

“You are a good man.”

He ignored her and started picking up their pace.

“Jorah, you are a good man.” She stopped him once again, and turned him to her.

“Ser Jorah, nice to see you strolling about with the Queen.” Lord Varys said seemingly creeping out from the shadows.

Jorah stepped from Daenerys causing her to frown at him.

“I doubt Jon would be very happy about you kissing your knight my queen.” He wore a sour expression and shook his head in dissatisfaction. His hands nestled into his sleeves, and his robe was so long it looked like he hovered as he moved towards them. 

“It is no ones business but my own who I kiss. The much better question would be, why have you decided to spy on me Lord Varys?”

“It is hardly spying when I can practically see you from my window.” He stared at Jorah who looked like if he was armed, would have stabbed him then and there. The corner of his mouth raised in satisfaction. 

Daenerys didn’t like what was going on and stood in front of Jorah to prevent it from escalating. “Excuse us, but we are headed to the kitchen.” She pulled Jorah’s reluctant to move body around Lord Varys. The two men had a stare off that she hoped wasn’t an ill omen of things to come. She understood why they hated each other but was worried to what extent. Varys was a man you wanted on your side. He could bring anyone down with a few words, and she worried what he’d do to Jorah given the chance.

“Until next time your grace.” He bowed his head as they left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know this story is moving a little slow, but please remember that season 8 was short, and my story began at the end of episode 3 so...yea not a whole lot of time to work with. We are about to hit a major checkpoint and action (and other things) will pick up and the story will really start moving. Some major things had to be set up and established first. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)
> 
>  Also I've had a few ppl ask, my Tumblr: clarkstarks


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